


Only For a Moment and Never Again

by Zimra



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimra/pseuds/Zimra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Túrin returns to Dor-lómin to find his mother and sister gone, but not all of his kin have managed to escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only For a Moment and Never Again

Túrin had not paid much heed to the young man who had stared at him during his confrontation with Brodda. He was golden-haired like the warriors of his childhood, but younger than Túrin and timid-looking, standing against the wall behind his master with his shoulders hunched and his head lowered. 

But once the fighting started he couldn’t help noticing the boy, taller than every man there including Túrin himself, hewing his enemies down with an axe he’d taken from one of Brodda’s lackeys. He had seen him stop once all the Easterlings had fallen, the rage in his eyes changing slowly to fear, then hurry to Aerin’s side.

Now, as Túrin stared down at Sador’s body and struggled to take in the old man’s dying words, Aerin approached him. The tall young man followed close behind her and eyed Túrin warily, the bloody axe still hanging easily from his hand. 

“He speaks with the truth of death. You have learned what you would.” Aerin spoke more forcefully than she had when Brodda sat beside her, but she looked older now, and her face was not free of fear. “Now go swiftly! But go first to Morwen and comfort her, or I will hold all the wrack you have wrought here hard to forgive. For ill though my life was, you have brought death to me with your violence. The Incomers will avenge this night on all that were here. Rash are your deeds, son of Húrin, as if you were still but the child that I knew.”

Anger flared within him at her words. “And faint heart is yours, Aerin Indor’s daughter, as it was when I called you aunt, and a rough dog frightened you. You were made for a kinder world.” Túrin shook his head. “But come away - I will bring you to Morwen.” He reached out for her hand, and found the head of an axe blocking his way.

“Do not think to speak to the Lady Aerin that way, stranger,” the young man said angrily, his blue eyes flashing. “If you were truly our kinsman, you would not wrong her so! She has endured much for the people here - your mother and sister and many others would have died if she had not risked her life to help them!”

Túrin would have offered a scathing retort, but something the boy had said caught his attention. _Our kinsman?_ “Aerin, who is this boy?” he demanded.

Aerin sighed, and laid a hand on the young man’s arm as if to calm him. “He is Tuor, son of Huor. Your cousin.”

“What?” Túrin frowned; that was impossible, surely. “Huor died childless, and my aunt…” he remembered hearing of Rían’s disappearance, which must have ended in her death even if she had been with child.

“Your aunt was taken in by elves who found her wandering in the forest, and she lived among them long enough to bear her son,” Aerin said wearily. “Brodda’s men captured him three years ago when Tuor and his caretakers attempted to flee south.”

As soon as Túrin took a closer look at the boy called Tuor, he could see that he did not merely look like the men from his childhood. He bore a strong resemblance to one very specific man who Túrin could remember quite clearly - an impossibly tall man with a brilliant smile, who had given him and Lalaith rides on his shoulders and sometimes brought them news from the north when their father could not come himself. 

“It’s true,” Tuor said defiantly, though he looked slightly taken aback by the way Túrin’s expression had softened. “My father fell beside yours at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and my mother died soon after my birth. I lived most of my life with the elves. But now I am a thrall, and Brodda made me pay dearly for being their son.” The matter-of-fact way he said it disturbed Túrin more than the hint of accusation in his voice. 

“I hope you will come with us as well, Tuor,” he said, rather stiffly. “My mother will be glad to know that you live.”

“I shall not accompany you,” Aerin said, her voice hard. “I should die as soon in the wild with you, as with the brute Easterlings. You cannot mend what you have done. Go! To stay will make all the worse, and rob Morwen to no purpose.” She turned to Tuor. “You should go with him. Find your kin, and bring them word of your mother, and of me.”

“My lady, I cannot abandon you!” Tuor protested. “The Easterlings will come, and they will kill you!” His voice broke slightly, and Túrin thought he might be holding back tears.

“And if you stay, they will kill you as well for your part in this,” Aerin said, in a gentler tone than she had used with Túrin. “I would not last in the forest, but you are young and strong. I would have you live, Tuor.” 

The young man knelt before her on the blood-stained floor, but Aerin took his hand and raised him to his feet again. She hesitated, then embraced him fiercely for a moment. “Go,” she said, then looked at Túrin again, her face like stone. “See that no harm comes to him.” 

“I swear it.” Túrin bowed low, then turned and left the hall. After a moment, he heard footsteps behind him, and Tuor appeared at his side. He still carried the axe, and was busy cleaning its blade with a cloak he had taken from the body of one of the Easterlings. Though he refused to look at Túrin, the anger and misery stood out clearly on his face.

“Her death is on your head, and mine,” he muttered, and Túrin did not reply. He would take the boy to Morwen - at least it would do her some good to see him and learn his story. The thought did not make Túrin feel any less hollow, but he held onto it nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> Several lines of dialogue in this fic are quotes from The Children of Húrin:
> 
> “He speaks with the truth of death. You have learned what you would. Now go swiftly! But go first to Morwen and comfort her, or I will hold all the wrack you have wrought here hard to forgive. For ill though my life was, you have brought death to me with your violence. The Incomers will avenge this night on all that were here. Rash are your deeds, son of Húrin, as if you were still but the child that I knew.”
> 
> “And faint heart is yours, Aerin Indor’s daughter, as it was when I called you aunt, and a rough dog frightened you. You were made for a kinder world. But come away - I will bring you to Morwen.”
> 
> “I should die as soon in the wild with you, as with the brute Easterlings. You cannot mend what you have done. Go! To stay will make all the worse, and rob Morwen to no purpose.”
> 
> The title is taken from a line in Unfinished Tales.


End file.
